Hide and Seek
by thatweasleygirl27
Summary: When Molly is attacked at work, Sherlock has to find out who did it and why, whilst trying to keep Molly safe. A Sherlolly fanfiction.
1. Chapter 1

It was those two words that John feared, that passed Sherlock's lips that morning.

"I'm bored."

John sighed, putting down his newspaper and facing Sherlock, who was playing with a revolver. He knew that it wouldn't be long until the wall had some fresh holes, courtesy of the Consulting Detective. "I thought you had a case?"

"I'm waiting for Molly to do the post mortems. Until then, I'm stuck," he muttered, his finger moving closer to the gun trigger.

"Well go over to the morgue, see if she's finished," John suggested, hoping that he would not have to fill in any more holes in the wall.

"She won't reply to her texts or answer her phone, John. I don't even know if she's working. I don't want to go over there for no reason, I have other things to do," Sherlock announced.

"Then do those other things!" John rolled his eyes, picking his paper back up again.

For someone so smart, he could be so naïve.

Sherlock left the room and went upstairs to think, gun still in hand. He needed the results on these bodies to be able to continue with the case, as he had already done all of the additional research. What was taking Molly so long? And why wasn't she answering her phone? It had been two days now. Usually she replied straight away, due to her obvious crush on the dark haired detective. It had been weeks since he had last seen her, so he had not spoken to her in person for a while, and had no idea what other plans she had. Maybe she was on holiday? Unlikely. Not at this time of year. Plus she was alone, and they don't let you take cats on planes.

Deciding to try her phone one last time, he waited patiently until it rang out, asking him to leave a message. It was definitely switched on, but Molly didn't have it with her. Or she was unable to answer it. There was only one thing he could do; pay a visit to St. Barts.

Wrapping his blue scarf around his neck and pulling his black coat on, he opened the front door, not bothering to say goodbye to John. "Where are you off to?" He heard him ask, and replied with only one word.

"Morgue."

The taxi only took a few minutes, and soon he was at the hospital. He marched down to Molly's lab, with no idea whether she would actually be there. Maybe she was sick, maybe that was why she wasn't answering her phone. It made sense, but somehow it seemed wrong. It was not like Molly.

Sherlock pushed open the door and walked inside the lab. It was completely empty, except the body bags and microscopes. No sign of anyone at all. Still, it as best to check. "Molly?" He called out, walking around in a circle, as if she would appear from under a desk.

There was no reply, as he had expected, but he was still confused. Was she at home? Something told him that she wasn't. She was eager to help him with the bodies, so she would have done them as soon as possible. It was all too obvious. She had to be here somewhere.

He wandered around the lab, picking up things to examine them, hoping that they would show some signs of where Molly might be, or what she had been up to. After a quick scan of the room, he noticed the jars of chemicals, which were usually in a neat line, knocked over; not broken, but out of place. Something nobody but himself would have noticed. Or possible Molly.

_Signs of a struggle, possibly. Unlikely that it was carelessness. Or someone else had been in here since Molly. Or at the same time._

There was also an empty syringe that had not been cleaned since its last use. Molly would not allow dirty equipment to be left out. It must have been someone else. The syringe itself was next to a body bag, which was also right by the knocked over chemicals. Maybe there was a connection between this dead body and Molly's absence. It was worth a shot, anyway. Slowly, Sherlock unzipped the bag, used to the sight of dead bodies. As soon as the zip was open, he peered inside, unsure of who might be there.

And not for one moment, did he expect it to be Molly Hooper.


	2. Chapter 2

She obviously wasn't dead, but Sherlock felt inclined to check anyway, taking her pulse. She was fully clothed, and did not have that familiar pale, dead body look. It was almost as if she was asleep. In a body bag.

This was very curious indeed, to Sherlock. He swept his eyes over her body, seeing what he could deduce. She was unconscious. There were two small holes in her neck, most likely from the syringe on the desk. Whoever had done this had not thought it through, and had left evidence. Sherlock smirked to himself, knowing how easy it would be to perform a few tests that would identify the criminal. But why? Why Molly? Maybe they didn't like her. But there were very few people who didn't like Molly, and hardly anyone who would go to these lengths.

He frowned as he tried to remove her from the body bag. She was surprisingly light, he found, as he lifted her up and placed her on the metal table. It was probably not comfortable, but she could worry about that later. His first priority was waking her up. Clearly she had been given (forcefully) some kind of chemical mixture that sent her to sleep, but he did not know when she would wake up. Also, he wanted her to wake up and do those post mortems. He found a clean cloth and turned on the cold tap, until the cloth was soaked in icy water. He then walked back to Molly and placed the cloth on her forehead, waiting for her reaction, which was almost instant. She sat bolt upright and gasped, making the cloth fall onto the floor. "What..?" was the only word she managed to get out.

"Molly, I want you to listen to me very carefully, do you understand?" Sherlock spoke with authority that made Molly feel like a small child.

She nodded slowly, opening her mouth to speak, to ask questions, but Sherlock placed a finger on her lips, stopping her words. "That's not listening, Molly. Do you know who did this to you? Did you recognise them?" He removed his finger, allowing her to answer.

"He was a man... tall... I've never seen him before in my life," Molly spluttered, still in shock.

"Anything else, I need to description Molly," Sherlock urged.

"He had... He tried to..." Her voice trailed off into a squeak, as she scrunched her face up and buried it in her hands.

"You're in shock," Sherlock observed, "you need a blanket."

"N-no, I'm okay..." Molly protested, wiping her eyes, "I just..." The words would not come out.

Sherlock removed his coat quickly, and placed it on top of Molly, who managed a thank you. He realised that it was no use talking to her now, she was still getting to grips with what had happened. Her hands were shaking and she kept mumbling, which was not helping him find out who had done this. "Molly, I'm taking you back to 221b. John can take a look at you," He explained, helping her climb off of the table.

She almost stumbled over as soon as she hit the floor, but Sherlock caught her and steadied her. They both walked out of the gloomy morgue and waited for a taxi, which only took a few seconds. There were always taxis around when you needed them.

Molly didn't make an attempt at small talk like she usually would in this situation, Sherlock noticed. She didn't even look at him. Instead, she turned her body so that it was facing the window, and closed her eyes. After all, she had been stuffed into a body bag, so the reaction was expected.

Sherlock knocked impatiently on the door of 221b. Of course he hadn't brought a key with him, because John was in. "Coming!" John clambered down the stairs and unlocked the door, only to be pushed aside by Sherlock, followed by Molly, who greeted him politely.

"Oh, hello Molly. So you found her, then? That's good," John nodded, following them both into the front room.

John noticed that Molly was wearing Sherlock's coat, and smiled. It looked ridiculously big on her, but the gesture was sweet of Sherlock. Maybe he did have a heart after all.

"Would you like a drink?" Sherlock asked Molly, who was staring at the walls with great concentration.

"What? Oh, yes, erm, tea please," she snapped back into reality.

"I'll have a coffee," Sherlock announced, looking expectantly at John.

Of course Sherlock wasn't going to make his own drink. John sighed and stood up, walking over to the kitchen and switching the kettle on.

As soon as Sherlock was sure he was out of the room, he turned to face Molly. "Are you _sure _you're alright? It's perfectly understandable to be shaken by this. But you're safe here, Molly," He assured her.

"Yes, I- I'm okay," Molly nodded.

"Good, good. Then we can start with when this happened."


	3. Chapter 3

John was surprised that Sherlock had brought Molly back to 221b. Surely he would have just called her a taxi to her place? Unless he wanted something from her, access to her lab or something. He was always like that, manipulating Molly into letting him do all sorts of things, crazy experiments with her tools. He walked all over her, and she knew it. John felt quite sorry for her, but it was her fault for letting him. But who could say no to Sherlock Holmes?

As soon as he had made the drinks, and a coffee for himself, he took them back inside the front room, to find Molly and Sherlock in deep discussion. None of them noticed John walk in, and he sat down, putting their drinks on the floor by the sofa. Whatever they were talking about must be have been interesting.

"Yesterday, I was just working. I'd come back from my lunch break, and there he was. This man, this... person. I asked him to leave the lab, because he wasn't authorised to be there," She began.

Sherlock smirked to himself. How very like Molly it was to ask them to leave. Probably politely, too.

"He didn't listen, and he pushed me over, onto the floor. Then he took out this needle, and started trying to jab me with it," Molly winced at the memory.

"You're doing fine so far," Sherlock assured her.

"Anyway, he cornered me whilst I was on the floor."

"Coward," Sherlock hissed, mainly to himself.

"I- I managed to kick him and try and escape but then he grabbed me, and... and..." Molly's voice broke off as she looked to the floor.

"What's happened?" John questioned, confused.

"Molly has been through quite an ordeal, it seems," Sherlock mused, placing one hand on Molly's back in an attempt to comfort her.

John handed Molly her tea, and she thanked him, taking a sip. "I'm sorry," she apologised.

"What for? You haven't done anything," Sherlock pointed out.

"No, it's just- I mean- never mind... can you excuse me?" Molly stammered, walking out of the room.

"So what was all that about, then?" John shook his head in disbelief.

"I found Molly Hooper today, unconscious, inside a body bag," Sherlock frowned.

"Oh my god, no wonder she's so... nervous," John commented.

"She's always like that."

"You should try actually being _nice_ to her, Sherlock. Especially after that," he told him.

"I am being nice."

"Well, do it in a more obvious way," John took a sip of coffee, rolling his eyes.

Molly walked back inside the front room and sat down on the sofa next to Sherlock, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Sorry about that."

"Molly, can I take a look at you, if you don't mind?" John asked, walking over to her.

"Yeah, course," Molly blinked as the doctor looked at her eyes, and then examined her neck.

"Does it hurt? Where the needle went in?" John poked the holes lightly.

Molly gasped through her teeth. "No," she lied.

"Molly, you don't have to try and be strong. I need to know what hurts so I can give you something for it," John explained.

"Right, okay," she nodded, not really paying attention to what was going on.

Sherlock, on the other hand, had his hands together, pressed against his lips. She peered at him curiously, and his eyes darted to meet hers for a second, before turning back to the wall. Just watching him was distracting.

"Molly," John clicked his fingers, until she looked at him again.

Sometimes she would just drift off, blocking out everyone around her, including everything they said.

"Sorry, what?"

"Your arm," John repeated, lifting up her right arm, which she held limply.

Hidden under her sleeve, was a message, carved with a knife. "It's not deep, it should be fine," John examined the wound.

"Sherlock, come and look at this," John insisted, pulling Molly's sleeve up higher.

Quickly, he strode over, and bent down onto his knees, so that he could get a closer look.

Because carved into Molly's skin, were three letters.

'J.M x'

* * *

Thanks for reading this! If you have any tips/criticism/ideas, please tell me in the reviews, I appreciate it a lot!


	4. Chapter 4

"He's back."

Just the sound of his name made Molly feel sick. She couldn't believe she had ever thought he was nice, he was normal. Jim from IT had turned out to be a lie. "Did Moriarty do this to you?" John frowned.

"No, it was one of his henchmen," Sherlock replied for Molly, who felt like she would throw up if she opened her mouth.

"But why?" John puzzled.

"I have a few ideas," Sherlock grimaced, "but first, Molly needs to rest. She's been through enough."

"But I.." Molly began to protest, but Sherlock interrupted once more.

"You can sleep in my room, I'll take the sofa. I wasn't planning on sleeping tonight. It's the second door to the left."

Molly wanted to stay up, to find Jim and kill him herself, if she got the chance. Obviously this wasn't going to happen, but she could hope.

"What on earth is going on, then?" John inquired.

Sherlock didn't answer immediately, as he was deep in thought. "Moriarty wants to play another game, and he isn't afraid of hurting people I know to get to me."

John immediately felt unsafe, knowing that he was most definitely a target. "I'll have Lestrade send someone to keep tabs on you both, to make sure you're alright. And Mrs Hudson," Sherlock added.

They didn't speak again for a while, as Sherlock was clearly in his mind palace, and John had learned the hard way that disturbing him whilst he was thinking was not a good idea at all. The whole incident was strange, but there was one question that was burning him. Why Molly? Was it because of her relationship with Jim? Or because she was easy pickings? He wished that it had been him instead. Sort of.

Molly didn't want to sleep. After all, it wasn't even night time. The sun was still in the sky and the birds were chirping away irritably. Plus she didn't like sleeping in other people's homes. She was always scared that someone would walk in and murder her in her sleep, or something like that. Groaning, she realised that she didn't have any nightclothes to wear, only an uncomfortable blouse and skirt. Sighing, she decided that she would just have to sleep in her underwear and hope no one walked in.

Sherlock's bed was huge, much bigger than the single bed she had at home. His room was also much nicer, even if there was spray paint on the walls. Carefully, she clambered into the bed, her whole body feeling numb, especially her arm. And the thought that Jim was back, and was out to get her, was more than unnerving. She was almost certain that her sleep would be littered with nightmares involving him. Reluctantly, she pulled the covers over herself and snapped her eyes shut, waiting for the images to start. And they did.

"If you don't do exactly what I say, I'll hurt you," He threatened, holding both a gun and a knife.

"Stop it Jim! Please!" Molly sobbed, as he walked closer and closer, a mad look in his eyes.

He laughed menacingly, and mimicked her wails. "Help me Jim, no Jim, stop it Jim!"

"Don't hurt me! What do you want?" Molly cried, trying to escape.

"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you. My hand my just _slip_ and pull this trigger," Moriarty advanced onto Molly, until he was close enough to touch her, to _hurt _her.

"I want information, Molly. Information about Sherlock Holmes. You answer my questions truthfully or I swear I'll kill you," He lifted his knife over her head for good measure.

"I don't know anything, please! Stop it!" Molly scrambled across the floor, but Jim caught her, tutting.

"That's going to cost you, you know," He smiled evilly, as he brought down the knife as fast as he could.

And then Molly woke up, screaming.

Sherlock was still in his mind palace when he heard the strangled wail, coming from upstairs. John had retired for the night but he had stayed up, determined to get a lead on Moriarty. Time was of the essence, as he didn't know when, or who he might strike next. He lifted his head up at the sound, unsure of whether he had imagined it or not. A few seconds later, it happened again, and Sherlock bolted out of the door and flew up the stairs. Thankfully, Molly had not locked the bedroom door (as it made her feel like she was trapped) and he was able to open it. "Molly? Are you okay?" Sherlock flicked the light switch on to find Molly sat up, her head in her hands, gasping for breath.

Some of her hair was stuck to her face, and she had turned bright red. "Stay away from me!" She screamed at him, pulling the covers over her head hastily.

"Molly, it's me. It's Sherlock. You had a nightmare," He cautiously walked over to her and prised the covers from her.

"Sh- Sherlock... Oh Sherlock..." Molly's voice was shaking, along with her hands.

"Shhh, it's alright," Sherlock had never really attempted to comfort someone before, and it was strange. He had no idea whether it was working or not.

"Was it... him?" He asked tentatively, trying not to trigger anything.

The last thing he wanted was to upset Molly even more, although somehow he always managed too.

She nodded, gulping. "He... it was a memory... I didn't ever tell you... I- I can't tell you," She shook her head, breathing deeply.

"It's okay, Molly. You're safe. I'll go and get you a glass of water," He left the room, unsure of what else to do.

He had never been good around women, especially crying ones.

He filled a glass with cold tap water and brought it back upstairs to her. "Thanks," she gulped down the whole glass in seconds.

"Would you like me to leave you now?" Sherlock asked, unable to tell.

'_No,' _was Molly's first thought.

"I don't mind," She shrugged, pulling the duvet cover back over her, slightly more aware that she was in her underwear.

"Try not to have another nightmare," Sherlock told her.

"I wasn't trying before!" Molly argued.

Sherlock suppressed a smile. Molly was very funny when she fought back. "Goodnight, Molly," He left her in peace and closed the door behind him.

Molly wanted to tell him no, to ask him to stay, to kiss him, or something else that was stupid. But she didn't. Instead, she tried not to think of Jim, and blocked out the outside world, until she drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

Thanks to anyone who has reviewed, and I think the next chapter will be more Sherlock centred.

Keep reviewing, it helps me improve my writing :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry I haven't updated in ages! I've been on holiday, so I'll try and make up for it. Thanks to those who have reviewed, you keep me going!**

* * *

Sherlock didn't sleep at all that night.

If Moriarty was back, then there wasn't time to sleep. Sleeping was for the weak. For the people who didn't have their friends lives resting on them.

After attempting to calm down Molly, Sherlock had retreated back into the front room, sat on the sofa and thought. He thought hard about the connection between Molly and Moriarty. Between Moriarty and Sherlock. And, the connection between Molly and Sherlock. These three things were essential in working out why Molly had been attacked.

Sherlock began to make mental notes, of every time he had seen Molly and Moriarty together. The first time was when he had told Molly that Jim was gay. And then Molly broke up with him. Why? There must have been something else, something that had happened between them. And then it clicked.

Molly had said that her nightmare was a memory, something that had actually happened. Whatever this was was obviously emotionally disturbing, and possibly connected to the attack. Sherlock allowed himself to have a drink, and then decided to start writing down his thoughts.

* * *

A crack of light shone through the closed curtains in Sherlock's bedroom, waking Molly up. At first, she had forgotten where she was, just for a split second, until she realised. Everything that had happened came flooding back to her, as she yawned, and climbed out of bed. There was a large, black dressing gown that looked very expensive, but Molly was too scared to use it, so she slipped into her clothes from yesterday. Luckily she had some perfume in her bag, and managed to make them not smell like they had been on the floor all night.

After checking her phone, which had only one message from Lestrade, asking her if she was okay, she left the room and walked downstairs. Guessing that Sherlock was in the front room, she knocked cautiously on the door, waiting for a response. His deep voice invited her in, so she pushed the door open. "Morning, Sherlock," She greeted, almost chirpily.

He completely ignored her, and instead, stared at her, picking apart everything she was doing.

Molly stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of whether to sit down or not, until Sherlock finally gestured towards the empty armchair. "Molly, this memory of you and Moriarty, what was it?" Sherlock asked suddenly.

Molly's face turned a shade of crimson, "I- what?"

"The nightmare you had last night, can you tell me exactly what happened?"

Molly didn't want Sherlock to know how much of a coward she had been, but reluctantly started to tell the story.

"I'd invited Jim over to my place, to have some coffee and watch a film. He went into the living room and I made the drinks, but when I got back, he... he was holding a gun and a knife. He closed the door and started... threatening me, asking me for information about... about you," Molly refused to make eye contact with Sherlock throughout the whole speech.

Sherlock started to feel slightly guilty. Was this his fault, that Molly was threatened? Because of him?

"I told him I didn't know anything, and I managed to get away, but he grabbed me again, and almost stabbed me," Molly's voice started to choke up, but she didn't cry.

Sherlock wanted to do something to stop Molly being so upset, but he didn't know what. Instead, he thanked her, and asked for a coffee.

Molly fumbled around in the kitchen, questioning why she was making drinks in someone else's home. Although that's what she had done for Jim. Maybe she was just that big of a pushover. Or maybe Jim and Sherlock were just very alike. People had told her that before, but she had chosen to ignore it. Sherlock wasn't a cold hearted killer. Jim was.

By the time Molly had finished making the drinks, John was sat in his chair, with the morning paper. "Morning Molly. Sleep well?" He asked casually.

"Yes, thank you," Molly lied, not wanting to recount the story again.

"Molly had a nightmare, at approximately three in the morning, to which she woke up screaming," Sherlock told John.

Molly groaned. Of course she couldn't get away with lying.

John raised a warning eyebrow at Sherlock, and decided not the question Molly, as she had turned pink. "I have to work now," Molly stated, standing up.

"It's not safe," Sherlock told her, frowning.

_Since when had Sherlock cared about my safety? _Molly thought to herself.

"Well, what else am I meant to do? I was going to look at those bodies you wanted me-" Molly stopped as Sherlock stood up, walking over to her.

He threw her phone at her, making her squeak in surprise. "I'll text you hourly. If you don't reply, I'll come and find you," Sherlock announced.

"When did you get my phone?" She asked, checking her messages.

"Last night, you left it down here. You should probably text Lestrade back. Good day," He strode out of the room.

"W-wha..?" Molly was bewildered.

"Ignore him," John told her, "I'll call you a taxi."

Molly went home, first, to have a shower and get dressed, and get herself back together. As she got changed, her fingers traced the letters that had been left on her arm, and she sighed. Why was she such an easy target?

Her phone buzzed, and she checked the message. Sure enough, it was from Sherlock.

**Just checking that you're okay. Reply ASAP. -SH**

Molly smiled, and quickly replied; **I'm fine thanks, on my way to Barts x**

She didn't know why she had bothered with the kiss, but it felt appropriate, although she had never gotten one in return. Or expected one, for that matter.

A few seconds later, her phone buzzed again.

**I'll be over as soon as you have finished with the bodies. Text me, and leave them out. -SH**

It was back to normal, then. Sherlock using her to see dead bodies.

* * *

Sherlock paced up and down the hallway, muttering to himself. Mrs Hudson walked past him, shaking her head. "Honestly Sherlock, you're blocking the corridor."

"Can you tell John to stay inside today? And bring me a coffee?" He asked, deep in thought.

"I'm your landlady, not your housekeeper," Mrs Hudson reminded him, sighing.

"Fine. John?!" Sherlock called out.

"What?" John replied, walking into the hall.

"Stay inside, it's too risky."

"But we have no food in," John protested.

"Well it's a good job that I ate yesterday, then," Sherlock smiled briefly, before walking outside.

"Where are you going now?!"

Sherlock didn't reply, and shut the door swiftly.

A minute later, Sherlock got a text from Molly. He didn't need to check it to know what it said.

**I've finished with the bodies x**

_Always a kiss, _he thought, _every time. _

Of course, Sherlock had predicted the text, and was already on his way to St. Barts. When he got there, Molly was humming to herself and playing with her hair. He raised one eyebrow and walked inside, startling her. "Oh, h-hello Sherlock. That was quick," Her face flushed pink.

He completely ignored her statement and walked over to the body on the table. "Can I see the results?"

"Sure," Molly knew this wasn't a question, but an order. She handed him several pieces of paper, and he read them silently.

"Interesting. Thank you, Molly," he handed her back the papers.

"What do you want?" She asked, looking back at him.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock frowned at her.

"You only say thank you if you want something. Black, two sugars?" She smiled.

Sherlock hadn't been aware of this, but accepted her offer of coffee. Was he really only nice when there was something in it for him?

Molly returned two minutes later with a cup of steaming hot coffee, and handed it to Sherlock, who nodded in thanks and sipped it silently. It was a few seconds before anyone spoke. "Did you get what you needed?" Molly asked, fumbling around with some paperwork.

"Yes, it was sufficient. Can I borrow your phone?"

"Help yourself," Molly threw her phone at him and he caught it easily.

**I've got your killer -SH**

He sent the text to Lestrade and handed Molly her phone back. Remembering her statement earlier, he remembered the actually say thank you. "It's fine," Molly dismissed.

"Listen, Molly. Don't do anything dangerous or stupid, Moriarty is out there somewhere, and you know what he's like," Sherlock warned her suddenly.

"Why would I do something dangerous?" She frowned.

"Because you're Molly."


End file.
